


Sigrold week 2019

by Alphawave



Series: The universe sings [11]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sigrold week, Sigrold week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: All 7 of my fanfics for Sigrold week 2019 shall be here. All cute, all fluff, all space dads.
Relationships: Dr. Harold Winston/Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper
Series: The universe sings [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1434493
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. Prompt 1) Beginnings/Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So my good friend[Old stupid Templar](https://twitter.com/StupidTemplar) decided not only to participate in Sigrold week, but make some art based on my prompts! Check the art out [here](https://twitter.com/StupidTemplar/status/1201482923494531072) and definitely support them! They've got the best Sigrold art!_
> 
> __

It begins with a touch. Just a simple stroke of the fingers on the back of his hand. It’s accidental, not on purpose, or at least that’s what Siebren tells himself when he glances up the wrist, arm, shoulder, and finally face of Dr. Harold Winston. It’s the last one that draws his attention. Siebren does not pretend to understand the finer points of human emotion, but even if he hypothetically could, there was no way he could truly interpret the expression Harold gives him at this moment. It’s multi-faceted, prismatic, utterly indescribable and gorgeous all the same time. But like a black hole, he wants to know how it forms, what causes its formation, why it appears to him now, when they’re all alone in the Commissary.

“Sorry,” Harold says as he takes the seat opposite Siebren.

“I-It’s fine,” he gruffly responds.

There’s a few seconds of silence where there’s nothing to be heard but the hoots of the gorillas in the distance and the whirr of the vending machines. Siebren takes off his gloves and folds them neatly together before pocketing them.

Harold stares at his hands, his eyes widening microscopically. His own hands fidget in front of him, clenching and unclenching. Another curious reaction.

“Did I ever tell you I learned palm reading?” Harold asks.

Siebren can’t help but chuckle. “Which stereotype are you living up to now? The American one, or the Chinese one?”

“Hey, I never said I believed in it, or that I’m any good at it. Just that I know a bit of it.”

“That was far from what I was suggesting. The universe is so vast and mysterious that I would not be surprised if there is an inkling of truth to it. However unlikely that may be.”

“Just give me your hand, big guy.”

Siebren does, and regrets almost instantaneously. Harold’s hands are surprisingly soft to the touch, and the caress of his fingertips sends shivers down his spine. His cheeks redden, his breathing becomes unsteady, and the universe begins to fade away.

Siebren feels a lot of things for Harold Winston. Admiration, for one. Companionship is another. It’s so rare that he finds someone he can consider his intellectual equal. But what he feels right now in this moment is something else entirely. It’s gentle and warm, not unlike the slide of Harold’s thumb over his life line, then his head line, and finally his heart line. Heat blossoms from Harold’s touch, traveling up Siebren’s arm only to dissipate within his chest.

Harold hums quietly, biting his lip in thought. Was it just his imagination or did Harold’s lips seem more kissable today? “So,” Siebren cleared his throat in the vain hope his thoughts didn’t transfer to his voice, “w-what does it all mean?”

“Well, if I remember this correctly, your life line says that you will be mostly healthy, although you might get into a serious accident later in your life. Same with your head line. Which probably means it might be the same accident that will affect your body and your mind somehow.”

“That’s a little morbid,” Siebren frowns.

“It’s a little better here. Your heart line says you’re rather passive in your love life, but you are willing to sacrifice a lot for love. That being said, you are more career-centered,” Harold suddenly smiles. “I’ve got the same line myself on my hand.”

“I wouldn’t know if I’d call myself passive.”

“You’re in a relationship?” Harold asks.

Siebren shakes his head. “Single, I’m afraid, and have been for a long time. If I must be honest, I have yet to be in a relationship one would call ‘steady’.”

“So I was correct,” Harold grins.

“Probably,” Siebren can’t help but smile. “Although I’m not sure about the sacrifice thing.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet. I did your right hand after all. Right hand is supposed to show you what your future holds.” Quieter, Harold says, “Perhaps you might find a love worth sacrificing for.”

Siebren stares into Harold’s chocolate eyes. There’s something to his words, something hidden beneath the layers that he does not recognize but that he wants regardless. He wants to decipher it, wants to know what it means, wants to hold Harold in his arms and press his lips against that incessant stubble and be one with the universe.

The thought startles him, not because of its suddenness but because it feels like a natural progression of events. Despite his experiences, this fluttering in his throat feels normal, and necessary. His eyes trail down to Harold’s long chin and bare forearms and firm hands, ordinary things that seem extraordinary in the context that is Harold. They’re soft to look at but they’re deceptively strong, hardened over time. A fitting metaphor for the man it belongs to.

Harold suddenly smiles. “What is it?”

Siebren tries his hardest not to smile too widely. “Could you teach me?”

“Sure,” he says. He offers his own hands to Siebren.

As Siebren caresses Harold’s palm tenderly, Harold patiently teaching him the basics of palmistry, the heat settles comfortably in Siebren’s stomach, making him feel like he is being embraced by the universe itself. Harold is the one to bring this feeling to the surface, this strange but wonderful sensation that Siebren wishes to last forever.

It’s the first time he feels this way, but it won’t be the last. Not by a long shot.

* * *

It begins with a sound. Not a normal sound, but not a frightening sound. Harold is walking along the hallway when he hears Siebren chatting to some of the cleaning staff, who are hanging off his every word. Siebren has an uncanny knack for being profoundly poetic about space and the universe. Not many of the astronauts appreciate it, possibly because of their extended stay on the moon, which might be why his captive audience—who usually only have brief stints on Horizon—are so utterly enraptured. Even Harold himself is not immune, pausing in his step so he can get drawn into the story.

He hears it again, and Harold understands what that sound is. It’s a laugh, almost a cackle. Excited, brash, abrasive. In another context it might have sounded cruel or mean, but here in the company of others, it sounds…pleasant. Very pleasant, in fact. So pleasant that Harold gets the strange urge to pull that sound from Siebren’s lips and make him laugh again.

Siebren turns to Harold and gives one of his rare smiles. It’s soft, smoothing out the harsh lines of his face. Uncharacteristic but it suits him beautifully.

Harold smiles. “Telling them about the _magnificent_ universe?”

“The universe _is_ magnificent. Those who think otherwise are fools with narrow minds.”

“Compared to wide minds.” Harold points at Siebren’s large forehead.

Siebren puts a hand on his forehead and rolls his eyes, continuing his story. He continues his conversation about moon dust, and the mysteries of gravity, and the many subtle ways he has manipulated it to suit the Horizon One lunar base. It might sound like boasting, but there is genuine interest and heart in his words.

Harold lets the meaning of the words drown out, focusing instead on the sound of Siebren’s voice. Siebren is a passionate man, but there’s something almost romantic about the way he talks right now, like he is speaking of a lover that’s in another country and not of the mysteries of the universe. He speaks in hushed, low tones, teasing out every sentence, a heavenly song from mortal lips.

Harold knows Siebren can be passionate, but it hasn’t truly computed until now just how passionate. He loves every aspect of his work, and he wants the world to know that he loves his work. There’s a sparkle in his ocean blue eyes and it reflects the beauty of everything around him. For a brief moment, Harold wishes Siebren will look at him like that, like he is the centre of the universe, the answer to his question, the thing Siebren wants.

He blinks, and the cleaning staff are gone. Siebren’s stopped talking, his lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

“Earth to Dr. Winston. Or should I say, moon to Dr. Winston?”

Harold shakes his head quickly. “S-sorry. Just spaced out there.” With a grin, he adds, “in more ways than one.”

Siebren’s grin gets wider. “I always knew you were _out of this world_.”

“I’m _over the moon_ that you think I am.”

There’s a few seconds where Siebren’s face scrunches up and his lips thin before he bursts into laughter. The sound is melodic, melodic. Utterly enrapturing.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“It’s fine. You just didn’t understand the _gravity_ of the situation.”

“That is a good one,” Siebren chuckles. “I am stealing that one for my own use.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you that stealing is bad?” Harold teases.

“I don’t think _mijn moeder_ can do anything about it. We are on the moon.”

Harold giggles quietly as his body feels weightless. He’s taken away from gravity, pulled into the orbit of Siebren’s dazzling stare. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, and usually it scares him, because every time he’s the first one to feel it. All his past relationships failed because they did not feel the same. Perhaps it’s ironic and sad that he should feel this way, up in the stars, away from everyone. But Siebren is no ordinary man. His eyes reflect the beauty around him, and in that moment, Harold’s reflection never looked so sublime. For once, Harold feels safe and secure, like Siebren will take care of him regardless of whether his feelings are returned or not.

It's the first time he feels this way for Siebren, but it won't be the last.

* * *

It begins with a kiss. Soft, desperate, eager. Objectively, it’s not all that good—Harold's stubble roughly grazing over Siebren's chin, the tentativeness to move their lips—but it’s the emotions that make their kiss so beautiful. In this moment they are but a singular entity, their kiss catalysing a chemical reaction that merges their bodies into a new, wonderful substance. Their wordless thoughts combine together, a swirling vortex of love and want and need and fear and worry. 

When their lips part, they both let out a soft breath, blooming galaxies into formation. The world has disappeared. The Earth and the Moon and the stars and the Sun are nothing. All that exists in their universe is Harold and Siebren and the space between them.

“Harold,” Siebren whispers.

“I love you,” Harold says, even though they both know it is absolutely unnecessary. Siebren knows Harold loves him, just as Harold knows Siebren loves him.

Siebren holds Harold's cheeks tenderly. "I love you too. Does that mean...?"

"I want to be with you," Harold whispers. His fingers card into Siebren's scalp, making Siebren shiver in content. "I want us to be together."

"Then why don't we? We can be together. Just the two of us." 

Harold leans forward and kisses Siebren again, taking them both back to that black void. With their caresses they recreate the stars, the asteroids, the galaxies, and the planets. With their affection they breathe life to Earth. With their sighs the universe expands and grows organically, chaotically, exactly as it should be. Earth glows, crystal blue waters amongst soft green trees and swirling white clouds, highlighting the contours of their faces.

With their kisses, they have created a new world, a new beginning, a new stage in their relationship. From now until eternity, they shall be one. 


	2. Prompt 2) Night out/Celestial bodies

Harold is nervous. Exceptionally nervous, which is a rarity. He’s known for being calm as a cucumber. He’s known to keep his cool regardless of what life throws at him. It’s a major part as to why he got the job with Lucheng Interstellar and why his specific job is to monitor the specimens in the first place. But no matter how many gorilla tantrums, false alarms, and deadly scares he’s gotten himself into, _this_ is the thing that has got him nervous.

He adjusts his bowtie and glasses for what feels like the hundredth time now. He’s waxed his hair and sprayed his most expensive bottle of cologne and worn his nicest beige vest. He’s even invested in an expensive shaver for the sole purpose of getting his face (as well as other parts of his body) baby smooth for tonight. He sent his few friends a selfie a while ago and they all unanimously agreed that he was, in their words, “smoking hot”. He hopes so, because knowing Siebren, he will have done himself up immaculately.

Just as he thinks this, he hears a knock on the door. He opens it to find Siebren, smiling politely, dressed in a three piece navy blue suit. In his arms is a small bouquet of small purple flowers.

Harold can’t help but chuckle. “Wisteria flowers? Really?”

“I did a bit of research and I read that they grow particularly well in China and the Southeast of America. I thought it’d be apt, considering your mixed heritage. I think they suit you well.”

“If you did a bit more research, you’d know they’re actually an invasive species where I come from because its natural hardiness makes it a direct competitor for the native flora. Especially the Chinese Wisteria which you’ve got in your hands.” Siebren looks heartbroken but then Harold smiles and takes the bouquet regardless. It is a sweet gesture from Siebren, especially since he went out of his way to put some thought into his choice of flowers. “Thank you though. They are beautiful.”

Siebren smiles in relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I’ll treasure them, _b_ _ǎ_ _ob_ _è_ _i._ ” He places a small kiss on Siebren’s jaw. “Just like I treasure you.”

“Such a sap,” Siebren teases.

Harold places them in a vase on his dining table and together, hand-in-hand, they take a taxi to the restaurant. Harold is the one who chose it and the reservation is under his name. They’re led to a table for two with a single, small candle in the middle. As always, they order far too much food, and they’re chewing with their mouths open as they talk. It's probably not the most polite dinner, but they are having fun catching up with each other. The conversation goes from everything to their research and the omnic war to things like what they had for breakfast and how fortunate Harold must be to be able to get a booking for this restaurant in the first place.

Food and chatter distracts Harold from his nervousness. The soothing lilt of Siebren’s voice is enough to take his thoughts away from what he has planned, but it all comes back when he feels Siebren’s fingers trail over his forearm in reverence.

Siebren’s cheeks are tinted pink, eyes taking in Harold’s prone hands. Siebren’s hands are so much bigger than Harold’s, and so much warmer. His thumb runs slow circles on the back of Harold’s hand. “You look good like this,” Siebren admits.

Harold smiles. “Like I didn’t look good before?”

“Of course you did, but you look magnificent this evening.” Siebren smiles bashfully. “I am a lucky man.”

Harold hopes he’s a lucky man too. He’ll need all the luck he can get for later tonight. His hand instinctively reaches into his pant pocket, squeezing the object within lightly. It burns his thigh, but he has to ignore it. It’s not the right time yet. “Did you ever think we’d be like this when we first met?”

“I didn’t think we’d ever interact outside of Horizon, let alone be dating each other. It wasn’t love at first sight.”

“It definitely wasn’t love at first sight for me either, but I was definitely attracted to you when we first met.”

“I was your type?” Siebren waggles his eyebrows.

Harold laughs. “I am dating you, aren’t I? But yeah, you had the whole package. Good looks, good body, but honestly, I think what attracted me to you was your mind in the end.” Harold sighs wistfully. “All my friends and colleagues, they don’t believe in their work, or if they do, they don’t truly care about it and what it means for the world. They just seek discovery for discovery’s sake. But you love what you do, and it’s so obvious when you talk that I…I guess it was a breath of fresh air to me. Made me feel like I wasn’t the only one.”

Siebren chuckles. “I’ve met many overly enthusiastic researchers in my life, but none as enthusiastic as you. It’s charming. And of course, the fact that you actually seem interested in what I have to say helps.”

“You are literally hired to talk at conferences because people are interested in what you have to say,” Harold remarks.

“But they’re not you.”

Harold blushes brightly, causing Siebren to chuckle quietly. They continue to hold each other’s hands like this for a while, basking in each other’s presence. They’re always moving, destined to meet briefly before going their separate ways again. Harold has learned to appreciate these small moments together. If all goes right tonight, he’ll have plenty more. But that's a very big _if_. This _if_ is so massive it's going to change their lives, hopefully for the better.

They pay for the bill, splitting it in half, as they walk out into the open air. The night is brisk, and it almost makes Harold regret opting for the short sleeved dress shirt tonight. His arms wrap around his chest, staving off the urge to shiver.

Not long after, there’s a jacket draped over his shoulders. Two warm hands rub his arms slowly, building heat.

“You’re sure you won’t get cold?” Harold asks.

“It’d be a mockery to my people if I got cold from this kind of weather.” After a moment, Siebren adds, “I shall be more than fine.”

Harold grins as he pulls the jacket tighter, taking in the light waft of Siebren’s scent, his musky cologne mixing with Siebren's natural, almost-citrusy smell. For a long time Harold's associated that scent with Siebren. Now he associates it with home.

“It’ll be a fair distance to the dessert place I have in mind for tonight,” Siebren says.

Harold glances up at the night sky, clear and aglow with countless stars. To his left he sees a small park with a playground a fair way in the distance. “Why don’t we make a detour before we get there? Rest our stomachs a little.”

Siebren smiles. “But of course.”

The park is small, made up primarily of grass and evergreen trees and winding little paths made of stone. In one corner is a playground for children. The evergreen trees are planted in such a way that they seem to highlight the brilliant sky above. He finds a bench with a small clearing that gives him a perfect vantage to see the moon and the stars. Siebren sits beside him, his head also up in the clouds.

“The stars look beautiful tonight,” Siebren whispers in awe.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Harold thinks aloud.

The soft light from the lamps illuminates Siebren’s face in a white glow. The stars glitter in Siebren’s eyes, shimmering and refracting. For what feels like the umpteenth time, Harold cannot believe his luck that a man like Siebren can be his. He’s not all that exceptional, he’s thought for a long time, but then Siebren would never give him the time of day if he wasn’t just as extraordinary as he is. Siebren is his, and Harold is Siebren’s, but perhaps they can be more than that. Perhaps tonight, they can be more than the sum of their parts.

His pant pocket burns. His throat constricts tightly. Butterflies are fluttering in his chest as a wave of panic flickers like a flame. But Siebren turns to smile at him, soft lips and sharp jaw and harsh wrinkles and all, and Harold knows deep in his bones that this is it. This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

“Siebren?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I do something terribly selfish?”

Siebren smirks. “What’s stopping you now? Go ahead.”

“Then bear with me.”

Harold rises from his seat and stands in front of Siebren for a few seconds, feeling for that little object in his pocket. When he does, he smiles back at Siebren.

“We’ve been on and off for a long time now. Me, up on the moon. You, working in the Hague or speaking at international conferences. We’ve probably got the world record for the longest distance relationship, but we’ve made it work. Every single second I get to be by your side has been a blessing. Every single moment I am with you is a moment I shall treasure for eternity. But I think for too long we’ve been focusing on the present. Tonight, I want to look to the future.”

Harold bends down onto one knee in front of Siebren. There’s a twinge of fear in his chest when Siebren suddenly rises from his seat, eyes wide and large, lips trembling, but Harold tries his best to ignore it. The only thing that matters is that he tells Siebren how he really feels. He can't stop now.

"You have made me so happy for so long that I can't imagine a universe where you are not in it. I can't stand to be away from you a second longer than I need to. So please, let us be binary stars and orbit around each other for eternity. Let us be magnets of opposite polarities, finding our way to one another, stronger than gravity." 

Harold takes out the small black box from his pocket and presents it.

“Dr. Siebren de Kuiper, will you marry me?”

For a second, Harold thinks he’s made a mistake. Siebren claws his hand up his face and over his mouth, his eyes still wide. And then his body shakes, his eyes tear up, and Siebren laughs harshly, incredulously.

“Y-you…you had to choose now?”

“S-Siebren?”

“I…” Siebren grunts as he fishes around his back pocket. He turns his blushing face away as he presents a small, red velvet box, identical in size to the black velvet box in Harold’s hand.

“Oh my god,” Harold says, because what else can he say? Gingerly, he opens the lid to reveal a ring made of meteorite and jade. He takes it up to the light, marveling at the different colours of grey stone and titanium silver and jade green. 

“I organized a surprise party at your place. I was going to propose to you there, in the comfort of your home, surrounded by friend and family.” Siebren rubs the back of his head nervously. “I even hired a band to…play ‘fly me to the moon’ if you accepted.”

The laugh that escapes Harold’s lungs is flighty. He feels like he’s floating high up on cloud nine, and he doesn’t want to come back down. Carefully he slips the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly.

“I had that ring custom made. I couldn’t imagine you with any old ring, it had to be something special.”

“Makes my ring seem paltry in comparison,” Harold can’t help but murmur.

“What did you get for me?”

Harold opens his box to reveal a gold ring, etched with the common symbols for the planets. He takes it out and unfurls it, turning into a tiny sphere with multiple smaller rings, all in different configurations.

Siebren takes it from Harold’s fingers and marvels at it, closing it carefully before slipping it on his own ring finger. With the combined light of the stars and the lamps above, it seems to glow.

“Armillary sphere ring,” Harold smiles. “You always said you wanted the universe at your fingertips. I decided to make that a reality.”

“Harold,” Siebren gasps. “It’s perfect.”

“Does this mean you accept?” Harold nervously asks.

Siebren smiles as he presses an eager kiss to his lips. Their hands entwine, metal clinking upon metal, soft lips upon soft lips. When they part, they’re grinning like idiots, giggling at a joke without a punch line. Siebren’s other hand caresses Harold’s chin.

“You have to shave more often,” Siebren says.

Harold smirks. “You know, I didn’t just shave my face today.”

“Now I am really starting to regret that surprise party idea.”

“It’s still fine,” Harold says, pressing another quick kiss to Siebren’s lips. “I’ll pretend to act surprised. You can still propose to me yourself if you want. They won’t know the difference.”

“Until they look at our ring fingers and put two and two together,” Siebren remarks. Softer, Siebren adds, “I don’t want to take mine off. It’s magnificent.”

“Then don’t. I won’t.” Harold looks down at their entwined hands. The two rings look nothing like each other, but nestled in their hands they fit perfectly together. Two halves ready to become one. Just like the two men that wear them.

Siebren tugs at Harold’s hand lightly. “Come on, we have dessert to eat and your surprise party to attend, _verloofde_.”

“I can’t wait, fiancé,” Harold giggles excitedly as they walk together, hand-in-hand, just as they're meant to be.


	3. Prompt 3) Sweet tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Confectioner AU. Siebren and Harold are rival food gastronomists that decide to put their differences aside and open a confectionery together. Or at least, Siebren thinks they've rivals. But rivals don't think about kissing the other, do they?_

Most of Siebren’s life he had been at the forefront of food technology and molecular gastronomy. With his research, he had developed novel food items, the likes of which only a person with a keen understanding of aromatic chemistry could even begin to understand its creation. It was Siebren who invented and pioneered the invention of both the electronic nose and the electronic tongue. It was Siebren who revolutionized not just the food industry, but the medical industry and the environmental industry. It was Siebren who had changed lives for good.

Surely all that skill translated to running a confectionary.

So Siebren bought a tiny little shop in his hometown in _Den Haag_. He got his equipment—some industry standards and others of his own creation—and began experimenting with flavours. He made savory candies. He made chocolates with sugar crystals inside. He made stroopwafels with red bean instead of caramel, inspired by the Japanese _dorayaki_. Of course, he also had some normal sweets, albeit with a twist.

When he thought he finally had a good batch, his hopes were high. He sent out a few ads to a few of his colleagues for workers to help in his shop. He couldn’t have any old employees, he needed specialists. Someone at the top of their game in the culinary world, who will have some idea of operating Siebren’s special gastronomy equipment. But of course, it was rather hard to find someone with the right skills. Applicant after applicant tried but none of them met his requirements. 

Siebren had only one choice, but it wasn't one that he made easily. With no one else to turn to, Siebren decided to accept Dr. Harold Winston's application.

Harold was Siebren’s biggest rival in the food technology industry, always one-upping him. If he’s not directly improving Siebren’s technology, he’s developing new technologies that even Siebren can barely comprehend. The few times they met, there’s a tension in the air, but there was no one else in the country who would agree to help him. It was a surprise when he found out that Harold Winston applied for the job, but if Siebren was being honest, Harold was the perfect candidate. He had more than enough understanding of the machines, had a decent background in chemistry, but above all he was an exceptional cook, trained by the very best confectioners in the business before pursuing gastronomy as a science. Harold’s only demand was that he was an equal stakeholder in the business, which Siebren begrudgingly agreed.

Siebren took his time showing Harold the small shop, the equipment he had already set up as well as the few items he had yet to fully install, as well as his plans for the enterprise. Finally, Siebren gave Harold the menu to look at. Really, it was just a few ramblings on what kind of sweets Siebren wanted, but it should be enough to give a general idea of his vision.

He watched Harold squint, adjust his glasses, tilt his head, and purse his lips. Dark chocolate eyes turned to face him and in an instant Siebren could feel the tension grow. There was always something in Harold’s eyes, searching within Siebren, waiting to break him up into pieces and stitch him back together again.

Siebren’s lips thinned. “Don’t just sit there with your mouth full of teeth. Out with it. I can handle it.”

Harold frowned. “I thought you’d try something different but you’re kinda playing it…too safe?”

“What do you mean, too safe?” Siebren’s brows furrowed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but we have a reputation to uphold,” Harold said. “These sweets aren’t cheap, and you’re already known for your unusual concoctions, so you’re not going to get the typical man on the street into our store. It’d be rather uninspired if you didn’t do something…fancy.”

“Like what?”

“Well, funny you should ask. I have been experimenting with a few ideas.”

“Experimenting,” Siebren grunted. "Will I have to get a palate cleanser for whatever hellish concoction you have come up with?"

“Look, just give me an hour or two and I can whip something up. I’ll even let you taste it if it means it suits your _standard_.”

“Go and try to prove me wrong,” Siebren gestured at the kitchen. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Harold just huffed under his breath as he wrapped an apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. Siebren took a seat on the counter and watched Harold work, trying his best not to stare too deeply at the latter’s defined forearms and concentrated expression.

Siebren watched as Harold flied around the kitchen, doing several tasks all at once. Siebren envied that ability, because it was the one thing he lacked. He loved food in all its different facets but when it came to cooking, he was mediocre at best. Part of the reason he wanted to make a shop was to get away from the tedious research and the endless begging for grants, a semi-retirement if you would where he could focus on his true passion. But that didn’t explain why Harold opted to do the same.

Siebren would have thought Harold would be smart enough to create his own business. Why settle for working with someone he hated for the same result? Why did he agree to work with Siebren in the first place?

As Siebren pondered this over, Harold placed a small line of chocolate truffles on a plate. A sauce of his own creation was drizzled over the top, melting the hard chocolate shell slightly.

Siebren blinked. “That was quick.”

“I had these prepared earlier when you first agreed to be partners. The sauce is mostly to get the fat in the chocolate heated back up to room temperature. Cold chocolates always taste worse than warm ones. Hopefully they're as close to form V as possible.” Harold gestured at the fridge. “The ones here on this plate might taste different. I didn’t have access to fine quality chocolates when I made this batch.”

“And these are all different flavours?” Harold nodded, smiling shyly. “Why go to so much effort?”

“Knowing you, you’re putting your all into this. I might as well do the same.” Harold added, “Besides, I like experimenting. Both in and out of the kitchen.”

Harold probably meant it in an innocent way, but Siebren couldn’t help but picture an all too different scenario, in which he was strewn out over the bed while Harold smirked lazily from above, pinning him down between his thighs. It took him a few seconds before he realized that he was staring at real-world Harold for too long. He quickly turned his head away, hoping against all hopes that Harold did not see his crimson cheeks. Fortunately, it seemed like he didn't.

“Anyway, give them a try. I made two of each flavor for us. Give me your opinion.”

“Don’t want to use my equipment to figure out its taste?”

“There are just some things a tongue can do better than any fancy equipment,” Harold smirked.

Siebren was sure Harold was teasing him now. He wished that was all, but for some reason his body was reacting strangely. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing hitched and his imagination was quick to run wild with many indecent simulations involving the two of them alone. It wasn’t like him to react like this. Was it because he hated Harold, or because Harold hated him? Those were the only explanations he could come up with.

He quickly picked up his chocolate and scoffed it down in an attempt to hide his blush. Harold’s eyes went wide. “Whoa whoa whoa! What are you doing?”

Siebren frowned quizzically. “I am eating the chocolate.”

“Y-Yes, like a two-year-old child. I thought you were supposed to be a gastronomist. How are you going to taste it if you eat it so quickly?”

“There’s a method to eating chocolates?” Siebren asked incredulously.

“Of course there is. If there’s a tasting method for wine, there’s a tasting method for other foods too.” Harold tilted his head. “You don’t know?”

Siebren stared at Harold.

“Of course you didn’t know,” Harold sighed. His eyes flickered down to the remaining chocolate truffles, then up to settle on Siebren’s lips. Another strange expression Siebren didn’t understand flashed across his face. Slowly he removed his glasses and placed them on the counter top. “Just do what I tell you to do, OK?”

Siebren tried to respond but found that his voice didn’t work. He’d never seen Harold without his glasses. Without them, he could see these warm eyes, the colour not too different from the chocolate truffles. They seemed kinder, gentler, more handsome.

Suddenly Siebren felt a hand on his jaw. His eyes widen as he saw Harold lift up a chocolate truffle piece and bring it to Siebren’s lips. He inhaled sharply through his nose, surprise and excitement going through his veins.

“Open wide,” Harold cooed.

Instinctively Siebren opened his mouth, feeling the chocolate truffle slide in slowly. It was half engulfed by his lips before Harold stopped.

“Take a bite. Taste it with your tongue before chewing.”

Siebren followed Harold’s orders, biting on the soft shell, letting his tongue roll over the velvet smooth surface. A part of him wanted to move, to get away from Harold’s grasp, but there was something else in him that wanted to stay put, to let Harold feed him like this. Harold’s face was so close to his, staring at his lips, then his throat as he swallowed. Siebren should look away but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look away from those deep brown irises.

Harold smiled. “Eat the rest of it slowly, then tell me how it tastes like.”

Siebren did, doing it a bit faster. Harold gripped his jaw a bit softer now, letting his chew the truffle a bit easier. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the flavours as they wrap around his mouth, but Harold’s hand was constantly shifting on his jaw, fingertips trailing under his chin, pulling his head higher. Siebren could imagine another situation where Harold held his face like this, his eyes wanting and eager. It took all his effort to not shiver. He swallowed loudly.

“Well?” Harold whispered. “What does it taste like?”

“It was…it was obviously chocolate, but…not a typical flavor. It had the smooth texture of milk chocolate but the bitterness of dark chocolate. I’d guess 30% cocoa?” He licked his lips unconsciously. “There was a nougat centre with an earl grey flavor. And the chocolate itself was imbued with…my guess is lavender?”

Harold hummed. “Good boy,” he said without mockery or irony. “Seems your tongue is useful for something.”

Siebren’s lips curled. He could not let himself get affected by Harold’s words. Not this easily. “This chocolate is OK, but it’s not spectacular yet.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I’m assuming you added vanillin in, but that makes it too sweet. I think adding in sea salt would make a better contrast with the earl grey nougat and the lavender.”

“What if I added alcohol instead? Maybe replace some of the milk with Bailey’s?”

“That would be interesting,” Siebren conceded. “But we need more testing and I don’t have any alcohol here.”

“I’ll buy some tomorrow. A line of liqueur chocolates might be interesting for the adults.”

“Well, that’s one experiment we can conduct,” Siebren said.

Harold smiled softly, his eyes still on Siebren’s lips. He leaned forward on the counter, his fingertips picking up another truffle sprinkled with crushed raspberries. “You know, you have to try the _other_ truffles I made. Might inspire some more ideas like this.”

“Are you going to hand feed me again?” Siebren smirked.

“Will you eat it properly if I don’t?”

Siebren considered remaining prideful and staying aloof. But Harold’s face was so very close to his, the truffle already inching its ways to Siebren’s thin lips. He glanced down at Harold’s open mouth and short stubble and soft, kissable lips.

He could feel that shift in the air, the tension rising like smoke from a fire. Harold’s eyes were half-lidded, crinkled at the edges with amusement. There was no hatred or annoyance. In fact, Harold seemed more amused than anything. Could it be that Siebren misinterpreted their relationship? Were they rivals, partners, or something else entirely?

If Harold did not hate him, what did he feel for Siebren? Does he hate Harold? No...no, it's not hatred that fills his bones whenever he sees Harold, but it is something similar. Something just as powerful as hatred, something that can engulf his being just as easily. 

Siebren swallowed his pride with his swollen tongue, allowed his cheeks to crimson in shame. “I might need a few more tries to get the hand of it,” he cleared his throat loudly.

Harold chuckled flightily as he repeated the process of before and slid the truffle into Siebren’s lips. Throughout the entire process he never stopped smiling. His eyes never left Siebren’s face.


	4. Prompt 4) Halloween

On a dark and stormy night, the King made his yearly summons for heroes to come to his castle’s aid. When once many would rally to his aid out of honour or fame or wealth, now they feared the King’s call. Dr. Junkenstein had been slain once before, but they could never get the Witch of the Wilds, and for the price of his soul he became her servant, rising from the dead alongside her other servants. It became somewhat common knowledge that the witch only appeared on All Hallow’s Eve. For what reason, it was uncertain, but it ultimately did not matter. What mattered is that every time she survived the battle and retreated, and every year there would be a tentative peace over the lands, and then every All Hallow’s Eve since, the Witch would summon Dr. Junkenstein and her allies to attack the castle once more.

The Warlock had come to the King’s aid. For what reason, no one knew. Privately, he was not sure what his purpose here was himself. The Void whispered its mad curses into his ears, but he had learned to ignore them. All that mattered was that he fought and slain the witch for good. That was all that mattered.

“So you are ready, old friend?” The King called. He had gave the Warlock his old room for board. It had not changed over the years, hundreds and hundreds of magic scrolls all collecting dust on a shelf right next to his overused desk and underused bed. It was comforting, and just a little bit sad. If he failed today, he might not be able to see it again.

“I am ready,” he replied, his voice softer and meeker, a far cry from the arrogant brilliance of his youth.

“You will not be alone in this battle,” The King said. “Heroes have once again answered the call.”

“Do I know these heroes?”

The King frowned.

The Warlock’s lips thinned to a line. “How many, and who do I know?”

“Three others, and all of them.” Before he could ask, the King added, “All you need to know is that they have called themselves the Beast, the Werewolf, and the Abomination.”

“Not comforting names,” The Warlock murmured.

“Perhaps not, but you are needed downstairs. Talk to your fellow comrades.” The King grasped his shoulder tightly. “Whatever you do, don’t let your past define the present, Siebren. The Kingdom needs you. We need you.”

The Warlock shook the King’s hand off his shoulder. “I shall be fine,” he grumbled. He turned on his heel and descended the staircase to the banquet hall.

At the opposite end was a small crowd, the remaining castle servants staring curiously at the King’s newest heroes. From this angle he could not see them, so he glided over, using his magic to part the crowd and let him through. He was relieved to not hear more from his patron than a dark whisper.

At the centre of the crowd was a large gorilla in the typical robes of a mage, as well as an oversized hamster sitting on an enchanted Gourd. The Warlock recognized the Beast and the Abomination, but they had changed a lot since he last met them. They were subjects in magical experiments at first, designed to fight against the Zomnics, but instead were given the gift of incredible intelligence and strength. He got closer and they both turned to greet him, the Beast giving a friendly wave while the Abomination, still on top his strange gourd-like vehicle, gave a little squeak.

“ _The Abomination says greetings,_ ” the Gourd spoke.

The Warlock blinked rapidly. The Beast smiled nervously. “The King told me you were alive but I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. It is good to see you, sir.”

“It has been too long,” The Warlock gasped. “But…if you are both here, then who’s the Werewolf?”

The Beast’s smile faltered. “You don’t know? You haven’t seen him?”

“Seen who?”

The Warlock suddenly felt two fingers tap on his shoulder. He turned around, eyes widening when he saw who it was. Their hair was wild, growing in patches over their face and their forearms, though it did little to hide the scratches and claw marks that marked their skin. The classical symptoms of lycanthropy was already affecting them, transforming them into a form that was half monster and half man. They expected a full moon tonight. It wouldn’t be long before the monster fully emerged.

The Warlock couldn’t help the tears that beaded his eyes. Arms wrapped around his body, holding him impossibly tight.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” the Werewolf whispered.

“H-Harold,” The Warlock’s throat quivered.

The Werewolf let go from the hug, smiling tightly. His eyes roamed over the Warlock’s body. “When I heard that you were alive and that you got yourself a patron for your magic, I thought it couldn’t be true. Siebren de Kuiper, making a deal with a spirit? I thought it was impossible. But…you have the brand.”

The Warlock quickly put his hands behind his back, hiding the brand from the Werewolf’s sight. “They told me you died on an expedition.”

“That’s what I get for dabbling in Necromancy,” he sighed.

“Necromancy? You tried to dabble in Necromancy?! Why would you delve your hands into the dark arts?”

The Werewolf frowned for a long time. Quieter, he admitted, “I thought you were dead. Everybody did, after the ritual you performed. All we found were your books and the signature of the spirit realm. Why wouldn’t I try to revive you?”

He turned his head away, frowning deeply. The servants have mostly dissipated, leaving only the Beast and the Abomination standing. He had to change the subject. “I suppose it was you who found them, then.”

“They found me,” The Werewolf replied. “Hammond was roaming the outskirts of towns, driving away the zomnics and the bandits. Winston however was studying the arcane arts just like us.” He suddenly smiled. “He’s a skilled astrapomancer now. Would be qualified as an electricity Elementalist by the Guild if they weren’t so against other magical entities joining their ranks.”

The Beast blushed, shyly revealing their weapon. “I’ve…developed ways to hone my electrical powers. Not that I’m as good as Master Winston.”

“It’s Harold. Or the Werewolf. I’m not Master Winston anymore.”

The Warlock frowned. The Beast and the Abomination were both enchanted creatures, magic permeating their bodies even till this day. The Werewolf raised them like his children, hoping they would never have to unleash their true power and fight. Evidently, he failed, and as punishment he must fight alongside them.

“Harold, could we talk privately?” The Warlock asked.

The Werewolf gave a look to the Beast and the Abomination. He nodded, gesturing to a small corner of the Banquet Hall. Soon as the Warlock was out of earshot from everyone else, he pinned the Werewolf to the wall with his magic. The void whispered in his ears, eagerly awaiting a sacrifice, but he gritted his teeth and kept the flow of magic steady. He had been starving them, and they had been forced to feed on his soul for nourishment. They would want a blood offering and they will get it, but that blood won’t come from the Werewolf.

“Harold,” The Warlock said slowly, “why did you come here?”

“I have a duty to my King, just as you do,” The Werewolf replied.

“Do not lie to me, Harold.” He could feel the Void growing in his veins, begging for release, but he gritted his teeth and forced it down. Not yet. Not until the battle. “I do not have any ordinary patron. I have harnessed the Void. I can hear for all the spirits, and if you are a necromancer and a lycanthrope now, then I would’ve felt your presence as soon as you entered this town.”

“Not unless I masked my trace.”

The Warlock frowned. “You were a Scholar, a Druid with a mastery over animal magic. Not a necromancer, not a werewolf, and certainly not a warrior.”

“You were a Scholar too,” he countered. “You were so talented, Siebren, but you let that power get to your head.”

“But I have achieved it, Harold. I have achieved my life’s work” the Warlock retorted. “I have discovered gravity magic, and I have mastered it. Why else are you floating above the ground? You know very well it’s not the signature of air magic.”

“Gravity magic cannot be controlled without great cost, and that’s not even beginning to consider your pact with your patron.”

“I have harnessed it.”

“What did it cost, Siebren?” The Werewolf asked.

The Warlock stared at the Werewolf for a few seconds. The Void began to speak to him again, begging for violence. He tried to stop their whispers but it was too late. Harold was, and still is, an adept at sensing magic. With a sigh, the Warlock gently put the Werewolf back down on the ground.

He was staring at him with soft, pitiful eyes. “You gave up your soul?”

“They said I would get it back if I defeated the Witch for good. They say her magic defies the natural order of the living and spirit realms.”

“And you believe them?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can try at the very least.”

The Werewolf is silent for many moments. When he spoke once more, his voice was quiet and strained. “Tonight will be a full moon. I will change soon.”

“What strain of lycanthropy is it?”

“The curse variant. The Lunar tribe killed everyone in my expedition except me. Fortunately, it is only a physical change; it does not affect my mental state or my magic, but I still feel the bloodlust. I might as well put that bloodlust to some use.” The Werewolf ducked his head. “I don’t want to live life like this, hiding in the shadows, running away from people when the full moon tolls. If I do this, maybe I’ll be accepted by everyone. Perhaps Hammond and Winston will also be accepted.”

The Warlock’s lips dipped. “If only I knew you were alive.”

The Werewolf stared at the Warlock for several seconds. Then he extended his hand, pointing out his ring finger. Golden magic trails from his fingertips as he did an intricate series of gestures. It was the magic rite that they first performed when they got married all those years ago. To perform it now was a silent admission of undying love. A silent admission that Harold still loved him true, and that he accepted him for what he had become.

The tears beaded in the Warlock’s eyes as he did the second half of the ritual, his purple magic crossing and merging with the Werewolf’s magic to create a unique sigil. A flame flickered on their ring fingers, signifying that they had performed the ritual correctly and that their love remained true. He stared at the Werewolf, hoping his message was clear. That he reciprocated in kind, accepting Harold and loving him regardless.

“Siebren,” the Werewolf whispered as he caressed his face.

“It’s Sigma now. Or Warlock,” he frowned.

The Werewolf opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the bells tolled from the clocktower. Horns erupted throughout the castle as the King rushed to the banquet hall.

“Heroes, the time has come for you to come to Aldersbrunn’s aid. Tonight is the night that you shall fight Dr. Junkenstein and the Witch of the Wilds.”

The Beast and the Abomination have approached the pair, faces resolute and serious. The Warlock felt a hand wrap around his, squeezing tightly as the skin quickly gave way for rapidly growing fur, nails giving way for dark claws. Amongst these oddities, the Warlock felt a small sense of calm. He was with loved ones who would protect him, and who he would protect in turn.

“As the Lord of Aldersbrunn, I represent the people in thanking you for your service. You shall be finely rewarded if you return alive and the castle safe. Double so if you defeat the wicked Witch of the Wilds for good.”

The Warlock squeezed the Werewolf’s hand in return, feeling the magic build up in his system. The Void was gleeful, erratic. As the first lightning bolt struck, he could see the first wave of Zomnics leave from the battlements, currently being fended off by the castle guards. By his side, his comrades had summoned their weapons. With a flick of his wrist, the hyperspheres were brought into creation. One by one they knelt down as the King used his magic. The air around their bodies shifted. They were now marked as the castle's defenders, together until their job was done or until death did them part.

“Godspeed, and god’s guidance on your path. On this All Hallow’s Eve, I mark thee Heroes of Aldersbrunn." With a shuddery breath, the King added, "May the Gods light your path this cursed night."

And thus the four Heroes, bounded by destiny, banded together to defend the castle. For tonight, the minions rose from the dead, ready to wreak havoc on the land. For tonight was the night of Junkenstein's revenge. 


	5. Prompt 5) Stories and songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cabaret!AU. Siebren de Kuiper is a famous cabaret artist, and Harold Winston is a struggling novelist trying to write his romance novel. Perhaps he might get some inspiration from the performer. Or perhaps the performer might get inspiration from the novelist._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You know those chocolates from the previous chapter? Yeah, I will learn how to make them one day, and it'll be the official Sigrold desserts. I did NOT use an existing recipe, I made it up in my head. If anyone else wants to try and make them, let me know if they taste good._

Harold doesn’t drink. He really doesn’t, but the cabaret seems to be the perfect fodder for his imagination. He probably stands out a fair bit from the usual crowd, working away on his computer, typing away at his story instead of paying attention to the performances. Or at least he’s trying to type away at his story, but so far, he’s been having a serious case of mental block. He has ideas, so many ideas, but he’s unable to articulate them into words on the screen.

It was his agent’s idea that he writes a romance novel. His last novel got incredible reviews for the way he romanticized space and the stars, and his agent convinced him that his true calling was in romance novels, not sci-fi. In the end, it’s not much of a difference from his regular writing style. Less worldbuilding and more character-building. That’s what his agent said at least. But he is staring at the few words he’s written for the last month now, inspiration just out of his grasp.

He didn’t choose to do a romance novel because his agent told him to, he did it because he wants to. His normal process is to write from the most climactic moment and build from there. He’s got the mental image perfectly in his head. The two main characters, after being separated for so long, find each other on a rainy night. They’re exhausted, their barriers finally coming down after years and years of denying themselves the truth, and now that they are here, they have to speak what’s on their mind.

_“Your eyes are like the stars,” Harry whispers. “Shining, shimmering, glittering for me.”_

It’s the first line Harold’s written for this story, and he’s still unsatisfied with it. It sounds cliché and utterly cheesy, but he can’t think of a better way to start the scene. Every day he looks at it and wonders how can he change it. Every day it remains untouched, only to annoy him the next day.

It’s easy to talk romance when it comes to stars and space because Harold loves them dearly, whereas he’s never felt true romance for another human being before. It’s easy to see the beauty in them, the tragedy and the ache and the warmth they bring. Everybody talks about the beauty of humans, but no one talks about the beauty of the unknown but Harold himself.

Well, there is only one person, and that man will be performing tonight. Siebren de Kuiper, world renowned Dutch cabaret artist, is probably in the building right now, getting ready for his performance. He has such a wonderful ability for portraying multiple characters in the same song, with a massive vocal and emotional range in his performances. He can act, he can dance, but by far he is at his best when he is singing his heart, just him alone with a microphone and a piano, crooning for the universe.

“Here for Siebren again?” Chao asks.

Harold turns to face the waitress and laughs politely. “No, no. Just here for the atmosphere and the inspiration. And of course, to see your face again.”

“You say all that, but we both know you don’t mean it.” She peers over his shoulder, glancing at the computer screen. She frowns. “This is the same as yesterday.”

“I know,” Harold sighs, adjusting his glasses. It’s another uncomfortable reminder of how many times he’s come here, but at least the owner has been so kind as of late to let him come in for free now. _It’s not Horizon theater with Harold Winston_ , they said and meant with all their heart. He promised in turn a free copy of his new book, whenever it comes out.

If it comes out.

“Come on, you gotta try something different. Order a drink, dance a little, live a little.” Chao leans in conspiratorially. “I can hook you up with some one-on-one time with Siebren if you ask.”

The last one is tempting, he can’t but admit as his cheeks flush. It’s no secret that he admires Siebren, and not completely for his artistic ability. “T-thanks, but no thanks,” Siebren says nervously. “I’m a stranger, a-and I shouldn’t intrude on him.”

“Come on, don’t be shy. I tell you, he’s a real sweetheart once you get to meet him.”

“I think his songs make it apparent he’s not as tough as his exterior suggests,” Harold chuckles.

“Oh no, he’s tough, but he’s also a sweetheart. Just depends on if he likes you or not. And something tells me you’re in his good books,” Chao smirks.

“Really?” Harold says sardonically.

“Let’s just say you both have a lot more in common than you think.” With a wave she flits off back to the bar, ready for the onslaught of pre-show drink orders to come in. He tries to ponder on her strange words but makes the decision to ignore it. Siebren is a performer, destined for the spotlight, and Harold’s just a struggling novelist hiding in the shadows. It’s an idol crush, Harold tells himself. Nothing more will come from it. It’s just better to admire from afar like he’s always done.

When he hears the familiar roll of the metal wheels on the tiny wooden stage, he instinctively closes the lid of his computer and turns to the stage. The Master of Ceremonies is smiling brightly as always, a little bit chipper today than yesterday. Probably because Harold knows they have a date with a cute omnic woman later tonight. He hopes that relationship goes well.

“It’s your all-time favourite. The star of the show. The harnesser of the harness. The universe at his fingertips. Ladies and gentleman, you’ve been waiting very patiently so please put your hands and appendages together for Siebren de Kuiper!”

Siebren walks up behind the MC and does a short bow. He’s wearing a standard suit with a swallowtail jacket, perfectly tailored to his body, not a crease to be seen on his clothes. His hair is short and greying, the dramatic lighting highlighting his sunken cheeks and creased forehead, but he is tall and he is large and he is larger-than life. He takes a seat on the piano, opens the lid with a loud creak, and with a flourish, removes the white gloves over his hands.

The crowd is silent, save for the odd clink of cutlery on plates. All eyes are on Siebren de Kuiper as he places his fingers on the keys. He plays a chord, clears his throat, then turns his attention to the crowd like they are just an after-thought. His expression is serious but not harsh. Harold knows over time his face will become kinder and softer as his performance goes on, which is why he’s surprised when Siebren smiles all of a sudden. Is it just his imagination, or is Siebren looking at him?

Siebren taps on the microphone, the static filling the room before quieting. The crowd is quiet. His lips curl up into a smile.

“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming. Tonight, I have a special song, fresh off the presses.”

Murmurs rise in the audience. Near the bar, Harold can see the owner and the bartenders talking in furtive whispers, gesticulating wildly. This isn’t planned, he realizes.

“I must profess, I have been single for a long while now, but I’ve filled that void with you, my darling audience.” Someone wolf-whistles, eliciting a sheepish laugh from Siebren’s lips. “Thank you for the enthusiasm. At least one of us is excited for tonight.” Quiet chuckles erupts from the crowd. “No, I am still single, but there is one among you who has been my inspiration of late. I have not spoken to you, but I have seen you, and I have heard you, and your words have inspired this song that I shall sing to you all tonight.”

Siebren clears his throat again, resting his fingers on the keys for a moment before playing. It’s a smooth, jazzy backing tune, embellished with tiny artistic flourishes to show off his ability. As he lands on a chord, his voice is deep,

_Your eyes are like the stars_

_Shining, shimmering, glittering, for me_

_And although you may be so far_

_I’ve come along to see you_

It takes all of Harold’s willpower to not jump from his seat. That’s the dialogue he’s writing for his novel. It can’t be that the one to inspire Siebren is…it can’t be him…it just can’t be. There’s no way.

_Take hold of my hand_

_Sweaty, sticky, clammy, from you_

_I am sure that you understand_

_I just can’t stand to be away._

Siebren keeps glancing at the crowd but Harold knows that he’s actually glancing directly to him. How can it be that just from Siebren’s eyes, he hears so many unspoken words. It’s such a pleading look, as if to say “look at what I have made. This is for you. I did this for you”. It’s so touching and beautiful. But…why? Why would Siebren go to such effort for a stranger?

_Oh, I know we’ve only met,_

_But I won’t leave this place content_

_Until my universe is made of me and you._

When Siebren finishes his song, the crowd stands and claps. Only Harold remains sitting, tears staining his eyes, throat tightening painfully. Siebren stands from the piano and bows, his eyes never leaving Harold’s. He gives a sympathetic smile and then a mouthed _“find me after the show_ ” and then he continues on his performance.

For once, Harold can’t concentrate on Siebren’s performance. When it’s over, he rushes to the backstage area and searches for Siebren’s room. When he finally finds it, he knocks three times. His nerves are rattled, his hands are shaking, but adrenaline is pumping through his body. He needs answers. He needs clarification. He needs to know. Why, why, why?

Siebren opens the door. Soon as he sees Harold, his expression softens immediately into a shy smile. “You must be Harold Winston.”

“A-and you’re Siebren de Kuiper. Not…that I didn’t know that before. I did. I’ve seen a lot of your performances.” Harold stops to take a breath to centre himself. Siebren is tall from the stage, but it’s somehow more terrifying up close. “S-sorry. I, uh…I’m here about the…song?”

“I-I realised that it’s technically plagiarism. I mean, I did write the melody, but the words are all yours. But they’re beautiful words and I’ve been stuck on song ideas for so long and when I read them they just suddenly flowed into me and…” Siebren blushes. “I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“I think we both are,” Harold chuckles nervously. He glances down at Siebren’s feet and stays silent for several seconds.

Harold can feel Siebren’s gaze on his body and his cheeks get red. Chao wasn’t wrong, Siebren is a sweetheart, but even so, there’s something about the air that tells him that Siebren doesn’t normally behave this way. Harold’s certainly never this clumsy with his words before. Is that what it’s like to meet your idol crush? This overwhelming, intense heat in his chest? What is Siebren feeling right now?

Harold gulps. “It’s a…good song,”

“You liked it?” Siebren asks.

He nods. “Truth be told, I didn’t like it when I first wrote it. But hearing it in your song makes it sound…I don’t know, better? More suitable?”

“I did tweak it a bit, I’ll admit, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”

“I did. It’s good.”

“I’m glad,” Siebren says softly.

There’s something so intense about the ocean blue of Siebren’s eyes. Harold doesn’t notice them from the stage, but they’re so big and so welcoming, like he can just dive in to the crystal waters and swim for all eternity.

“I…actually am glad you are here, because I want to proposition you.” Harold’s eyes widen. “P-propose an idea. Not proposition. English isn’t my strong…” he grunts. “L-look, in the coming months, I am preparing to go on a tour across the country, and I need material. What little I have seen from you has already been enough to inspire me to create one song, so I can’t begin to imagine how much more will come from me if we worked together.”

Harold lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding. For one brief moment he thinks he won’t mind if Siebren actually propositions him, but he will not voice that out loud. Not in a million years. “Y-you’re saying you…want me to work for you?”

“As a songwriter, yes. O-or a regular writer for my performances.” Siebren smiles bashfully. “I’ve…I’ve read your _Universe sings_ series religiously. If you can replicate even just 1% of that, I know you will be a perfect fit for my work.”

“I…I’m not musical though. I mean…” Harold adjusts his glasses nervously. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Siebren says. “But I understand if you refuse. I do not want to pressure you. I understand this will be quite different to what you’re used to.”

It sounds too good to be true. A chance to work alongside his idol, making some money, creating songs and performances that will be performed to hundreds and thousands. The two of them will be together, meeting each other every day, discussing ideas, laughing over jokes, touching each other’s hands, sliding their fingers down their chests.

Harold turns his head away, blushing at his thoughts. Siebren frowns. “Is that a…no?”

Heat creeps up his cheeks and flood his veins. His breathing goes erratic. His eyes are taking in that strong chin and large frame and beautiful lips. This is love, Harold realizes. Is this what his characters feel like?

Harold takes a shuddery breath as he offers his hand. “I’ll…I accept.”

Siebren grins as he excitedly shakes Harold’s hand back. There’s electricity to his touch, zapping him in all the most pleasurable spots in his body. He feels like his knees are going to give out any second. “This is great. This is perfect, I…this is a pleasure, Mr. Winston.”

“Harold,” he clarifies. “Just…call me Harold.”

“Only if you call me Siebren.”

It’s all for the sake of his novel, Harold tells himself over and over that night as he types furiously into his computer. He’s not doing it to feel that pleasurable feeling again. He’s not doing it so he can be close to Siebren. They’re just feeding off each other, giving each other inspiration.

This is not love, Harold fools himself over and over again, knowing deep in his heart that this is very much love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The song is also my creation, because I love jazz (you like 'jazz', Siebren?) and I apparently know enough about music to fake a song for a fic. Also, I now know too much about the Dutch Cabaret scene_


	6. Prompt 6) Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siebren speaks at Harold's funeral, and later contemplates his own messy feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah, uh....this is the sad chapter. But it's also a two-parter, so it gets a happy ending. And also a cliffhanger for this one. Enjoy_

He didn’t think it would happen. He didn’t think it was possible. Dr. Harold Winston, brilliant and careful as he was, didn’t deserve such a cruel fate. But such was life, was it not? One minute it was burning brilliantly. The next, the flame was starved of oxygen, dying away like it never existed.

Harold, in Siebren’s mind, was someone who was more than mortal. He loved everything and everyone on this planet, and he wanted to make the world a better place. He was altruistic, teasing, kind-hearted, annoying, warm and naïve all at once. Harold was not a mere human. He was so much more than that.

Siebren didn’t think he’d just go like that. He didn’t believe that Harold could ever die.

When he heard the news, he was in disbelief for a long time. It didn’t fully register in his mind. Harold was gone, but Harold had been gone plenty of times before in the past, and always they found each other like nothing had ever changed between them. The last time they met in Hong Kong and their brief time together was absolutely magical. How could a man that can slurp noodles that fast, a man who claimed to be fluent in Mandarin and Cantonese and yet didn’t read bother to read the spiciness level of the food he ordered, just die like that?

They didn’t find his body. They didn’t find anybody’s body. Siebren held onto the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Harold had survived somehow.

And then they found Nevsky’s DNA on one of the moon rovers, as well as some of his blood. And Yoshida’s blood too. And Flores’ blood. Lucheng officially revealed that all communications with the lunar base had gone out. The lone survivor, Dr. Chao, who had evacuated Horizon Lunar Base earlier than planned for health reasons, said that the emergency airlocks were triggered, and that the sister lunar bases have had no contact with Horizon One staff.

Thus, Lucheng put out a statement. Until evidence to prove otherwise, the scientists of Horizon were declared dead.

There was a massive vigil for all the scientists, but Siebren did not go. Given a choice, he’d also avoid Harold’s funeral as well, but his presence was expected there. Everyone knew how close he was to Harold. Everyone knew he had something to say.

So Siebren flew to America to Harold’s hometown in the South. There were many people, some friends, some family, but many were strangers in Harold’s life, here to pay their respects. Though Harold’s parents put on a brave face, Siebren could tell they were grieving. Perhaps that was why they asked him to speak.

It was a small wooden podium, too small for Siebren’s massive stature, the only thing ‘traditional’ about this funeral. Many people turned to him, keeping their cries to a minimum, gulping their swollen throat.

Siebren took a breath, then another breath. He couldn’t get emotional. Not now. Not here.

“Harold Winston was a good friend of mine,” Siebren started slowly. “I regarded him highly, and I think he knew that I did. He was clever in so many different ways. Like the saying goes, Harold was a jack of all trades, and that meant he bested the masters of one. He knew a little bit about everything, could fix any problem that came his way, and he did it all with genuine compassion.” Siebren’s lips dipped. “He was a good friend, and a good man.”

The crowd kept their heads ducked low. Siebren tried to steady his shaking hands.

“I didn’t think I’d fall in love with him when I first met him. I didn’t even think I could love someone so deeply. But he had managed to worm his way into my heart with his terrible puns.” A few people chuckled, making him smile momentarily. “Oh, he had a way with words. That was his true weapon. He wielded them like a blade, cutting down my defenses, striking me when I’m not paying attention. And my defenses did come down, and he took care of me. He saw the best in not just me, but everyone around him, in the world. Always an optimist, looking for the rainbow at the end. To see the light in this dark world is admirable. There were a lot of things I admired about him.”

Siebren shook his head and forced a smile. “Knowing Harold, he would want this to be a happy occasion, not a sad one. So we should not shed too many tears for him. To honour his memory, and to honour his sacrifice, we should be content and grateful for all the things we do have in life. Never accept the world for what it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be.”

Harold’s famous motto echoed throughout the small room. A few people clapped as a video began to play. Siebren used the distraction to get out of this cramped room, out into the darkness. He walked through the cemetery until he found a tree, just far enough from the function room, and slid his back down the scratchy bark. His hands covered his face, heaving in his breaths. His body shook and his throat clenched tightly as he gazed up to the moon. The tears beaded at the corner of his eyes.

“I-I miss you, Harold,” he whispered.

There was no answer but the whip of the wind and the rustle of the leaves. The moon shone its light, never flickering, never speaking.

His teeth clenched as he continued staring at the moon. For some reason, the sight of the moon filled him with unspeakable rage. “Of all the stupid ways you could’ve died, it had to be by damned dirty apes? You were smarter than that, Harold. You were better than that. You knew damn well the apes were misbehaving, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

The moon continued to glow.

“I-I know it wasn’t your fault. You did as much as you could, it was your stupid coworkers, those other _scientists_ that didn’t want to get their hands dirty,” he spat it out like it was a curse word. “You were so much better than them, you didn’t deserve to die with them. You deserved to be here, with me, and Specimen 8 and Specimen 28. You deserved life, a better life.”

Was the moon refracting or was that the tears in his eyes, obscuring his vision? He raised a hand to wipe them away, but they wouldn’t stop dropping. Why wouldn’t they stop? He had to be strong. He had to. For Harold. If anyone needed him to be strong, it was Harold, wherever he may be.

“I-I…I love you, Harold. I know that’s a silly statement to make now. I know I’ve said it before but I didn’t tell it to you enough times. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to tell you, so please, come back. Tell me this is all one cruel joke you played. Please. Please…….please.”

As Siebren lowered his head, his body shivering, the droplets finally flowed uninhibited and uninterrupted. For the first time in his adult life, Dr. Siebren de Kuiper cried.

Far up in space, hidden in the emergency medical room of Horizon Two lunar base, Harold Winston slept dreamlessly, unaware of the funeral held in his honour and the tears shed in his memory.


	7. Prompt 7) Another life/Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale to the previous chapter and Sigrold week as a whole. After being stuck in space for so long, Harold finally gets rescued by a mysterious man who calls himself Sigma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This was going to be in the 'evil actions and good intentions' verse (which is basically the same as normal, except Harold is alive and has his own superpowers) and it still is, but I also took a little something from prompt two._

For a long time, Harold had hoped for rescue. Trapped up on the moon, with no one but the artificial intelligence and the odd astronaut to talk to, it sounded like the plot of a very bleak sci-fi book. But that was Harold Winston’s life. And it remained his life for well over a decade.

It was year three into his stay that he entertained the possibility that rescue wasn’t going to come, and it was in year five that he found out the extent of Earth’s manipulation, keeping him in a prison that no one knew existed, hiding away their secrets. Year seven, and he found out that he was declared dead, and had been declared dead since the tragic incident.

Any other man might have broken down at that realization. Any other man might have gone insane, crumbling under the desolate loneliness of space. But Harold Winston was no ordinary man. He had the stars and his own memories to keep him company. Loneliness was not a stranger in his life. He knew how to curb it, to crush it under his heel if need be. But despite this, he wasn’t completely immune. By year eight, he had all but given up the very possibility of rescue. He had succumbed to his fate as a prisoner of space, forever drifting above Earth, never to return home.

Year nine went by, then year ten, eleven, twelve. Nothing occurred, besides the occasional phenomena. Astronauts came and went—usually to deliver supplies— but they had their orders. No matter what Harold said or did, they would not take him back home. He’d long given up trying to convince them.

And then year thirteen came around, and Harold Winston would finally be rescued.

It didn’t faze him when he heard the distinct chime of the decompression chamber. What did faze him was the person that arrived through those cold, clinical doors. It wasn’t the people who normally came in. The uniform they wore was strange, consisting of floating armour and tight straps around chest plates. They floated barefoot, undisturbed by the change in gravity, as if they had become all too used to the shifting gravity that was space. But it was those eyes, marred with strange etchings that curve up their face to strange electronics. He knew those eyes, and in a flash, those eyes knew him in return, softening microscopically.

“It’s been far too long, Harold,” he whispered.

Harold lunged for the man in front of him, clutching him tightly in his arms. Gauntlet-wielding arms hugged him back in return, ducking their head down to rest on Harold’s shoulder.

“I…but how…?” Harold asked.

“I’ve been searching for you for so long,” he whispered back. “When I heard the truth, I came racing here as fast as I could.”

Harold stared wide eyed at the face in front of him. There was no more hair on his head, and the wrinkles were sharper and more pronounced, but there was a new softness that graced his features. It was almost as if he became kinder and crueler all at the same time.

“Siebren?” Harold whispered.

He shook his head. “Sigma,” he replied. “Siebren de Kuiper is no more.”

“Sigma?”

“It’s a long story. A very long story.” He put out his hand for Harold to take.

“Are you here to rescue me?” Harold asked, hopeful against all hopes.

“I’m here to take you home,” Sigma replied. “Hammond and Winston are waiting for you.”

“Hammond and Winston?”

Sigma rolled his eyes. “Another long story.”

Harold stared at the hand stretched out to him. It was gloved, like it almost always was. His lips dipped into a frown as he stared at his own hand, the jade and meteorite ring having long since lost its shine over time. Was this real? Or had he finally gone insane, desperately conducting something he could never have? Was Siebren even here?

He pinched Siebren hard on his neck.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“OK, you are very much real,” Harold chuckled.

“I think you’re supposed to pinch yourself, not pinch other people,” Sigma grumbled. He couldn’t stay mad for long, his lips pulling back up into a smile.

Harold smiled back as he took Sigma’s hand and took a step closer. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.”

“Good to see you haven’t changed much,” he smirked as he ran his hand over Harold’s hair. “Don’t remember you having the salt and pepper lock.”

“I’m being serious. I…” Harold paused. Was this appropriate? Had he moved on? Did he find someone new? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Might as well put it out there. “I miss you. Deeply.”

Sigma’s lips fall. “So it’s true. You don’t know.”

“About what?”

“About the outside world. About Overwatch’s fall and resurrection. About Winston leading the new resurrected Overwatch.” He gestured at his feet. “About why I can suddenly float twenty centimetres off the ground.”

Harold giggled. “I was curious about that.”

“We’ve got a long trip ahead. I’ll explain everything, but I must warn you, not all these stories have a happy ending.”

Hand-in-hand, Sigma led Harold to the space shuttle, ready to take him to Earth. There was an air of clandestineness in the make of this ship, matching none of the spacecraft that Harold had seen in the last thirteen years. At the console were a few photos sticky-taped to the wall, of Winston and what seemed to be his friends. There was a cute one of Hammond lying on top of Winston’s head that looked far more recent than the others. From this angle, Harold could perfectly see the Earth in all its splendor. For so long, it was unattainable. Now it was just in his reach.

When he felt liquid roll down his cheek, Harold finally realized that he was crying. A thumb that did not belong to him wiped them away. But he wasn’t crying out of sadness. His lips were pulled into a tight, brilliant smile as he laughed.

“You know, we have thirteen years of stories to catch up on.”

“We do,” Sigma hummed. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to all these years.”

“It’s a bit of a dull story, but it has a happy ending.” He squeezed his hand softly.

Sigma chuckled as he leaned in forward and pressed a tender peck to Harold’s forehead. “What a coincidence. My story has a happy ending too. But you just wait until the conclusion.”

And so they sailed back down to Earth, where Harold was reunited with Winston and Hammond. Over a week they swapped stories of their lives, of the world around them, and of random inconsequential things. They shared dinner in the crumbling rock of the Watchpoint: Gibraltar Overwatch base and gazed at the stars until their eyelids went heavy. During one such dinner, Harold watched as the man known as Sigma took off his glove, his eyes catching on a golden ring on his hand. He took a risk and entwined their fingers together, ring upon ring. The smile he received was multi-faceted, prismatic, and gorgeous.

Harold could never properly return to his old life. He was a dead man walking, a fugitive that escaped his prison, forever living on the run. But he didn't mind it one bit. He had family, and real food, and a love that still burned as bright as the stars. This new life was more than he could have hoped for, and if it meant this was how he'd spend the rest of his life, then this was truly a happy ending indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And thus the end of an era. This has been super fun to write, even if I kinda ran out of time on the last two here. I did most of these on the day, and uh...maybe next time I should have planned it better in advance. But I hope you've enjoyed the journey. Plenty of Sigrold is still to come with the next chapter of 'Evil actions and good intentions'. Until then, hope you had fun with the space dads!_


End file.
